Wallflower
by Icegazer
Summary: Spike helps a shy wallflower find her inner wildflower.


**Disclaimer:** None of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to me. December and everything associated with her is a product of my mind. However, all the other characters and all other things affliated with Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN.

December clutched her library books closer to her chest, her blue eyes glancing back and forth, nervously, looking for baddies and uglies in the darkness of the night, wanting to munch her up before she could even utter a squeak. Her pace was hurried, her slippered feet padding gently on the sidewalk. The sound of her skirt whispering against her frantically moving legs only added to the silence of the shadows. Sure there were insects singing their night songs, and the noise of the trees brushing leaves and branches against each other with the help of the slight breeze that made the air comfortable, but the lack of action, car noise, human noise, life noise made her paranoid. People forgot to breathe in darkness. Life seemed to ebb when the sun fell from the sky.

It wasn't until she nearly tripped over him that she noticed the figure of a crumpled, wretched body face down on the sidewalk.

She was too afraid to scream.

Her knees buckled, her books falling to the concrete, her arms too busy trying to help propel her in the opposite direction of the body in crab-like fashion to continue holding them.

With a few feet between them, December began to calm down. Her wide blue eyes were still glued to the battered face, but her breathing was beginning to slow. _Pull yourself together, girl, you don't even know if it's a... corpse_. With that though she found the courage in her all consuming curiosity to crawl close, bunching her ankle-length skirt on her thighs so that her knees didn't pin the fabric to the coarse ground and hamper her movement.

Reaching a tentative hand out, she placed her fingers on the pulse point on the person's throat. Sorrow and dread filled her all the way to her prickling scalp and weighed down her stomach. December snatched her hand back, clutching it to her warm chest, to her rapidly beating heart to remind the digits what life felt like.

Whoever he was, he had no pulse. He was a handsome man despite his injuries, and that made her twice as sad for his loss. His hair was obviously dyed, because his brown eyebrows didn't match the peroxide blonde of the hair on his head. It was cut very short and worn slicked back. His face would most likely be pretty slim, but very masculine, what with those sharp cheekbones, and square jaw line. His skin looked a sickly yellow, his eyes were sunken in, the shadows deep in his eye sockets, the skin on what she could see of his looking to be barely hanging on his bones. His lips were chapped and white. There was no healthy color to anything about him. His leather trench covered everything but hands and mid calf down. He wore no shoes, and the soles of his feet were gruesomely scarred. His black pants were shredded at the hem, and the slashes traveled up under the duster. Most of his injuries looked to be burn marks and bloodless knife slashes.

Half of her wanted to lift an edge of the leather to peek underneath and see if the hidden damage was just as bad as what she could see. She would have done it too, if just as she was reaching over to daintily pick up a corner, the guy didn't groan and shift as if trying to gather his feet and arms beneath him to push himself up. Really, what he did was flinch his limbs and then grunt, his face scrunched in pain.

December could have sworn that her eyes couldn't get any wider, but they did. She had pressed her fingers to his throat were his pulse should have been, and there was none. This guy was supposed to be dead! She had thrown herself backward with a graceless squawk in her fear, however it only caught the attention of the man.

Sharp, blue eyes that she could have drowned in had they not looked so threatening opened to spear her with a glare. He peered at her for a while, shifted a second time, this time more determinedly.

He got so far as getting his hands underneath his chest. He was winded by the effort and apparently in pain for the attempt. He muttered something that sounded like "Bloody fucking hell" and a string of other less intelligible words as he panted.

Her heart going out in sympathy for the terrible pain he was apparently in, she leaned forward to help, completely forgetting her earlier fear. He reminded her of it by popping open an eye at her and growling.

That was a very inhuman growl, she noted to herself, her hands clutching her skirt as she knelt within touching distance of the blonde. "I only want to help you, sir." She blurted, wanting to do something other than watch him.

He lifted his head very painstakingly, turned it to fully face her, giving her a full view of the damage done to what obviously was wonderfully handsome beginnings. He was very dangerous. That was plain to see, now that his eyes were open, letting her see into his soul. He was very cranky, in pain, and not too gracious with it. His mouth formed the words with precision. "Sod. Off. Bitch."

Well! He was British. Not very refined either. December corrected her earlier assumption of his emotional state. He was furious. And completely helpless, lying here in the middle of the sidewalk, trying very hard to even sit up.

She looked about for her books and carefully collected them while the blonde man managed to flop himself over onto his back. With an irritated scowl on her face she turned and opened her eyes to glare down at the stubborn man. It wasn't her fault if he hurt himself more being all individualistic and refusing her help. It wouldn't be her fault at all if he even managed to die from his wounds, either. She had tried and he told her very rudely that he didn't appreciate it.

When her eyes focused on the man sprawled beneath her, what she saw was enough to wipe the scowl away. "Good, God, you're hideous!" Her voice wouldn't work anything above a breathy whisper. She meant his wounds, but the man smirked, his chapped lips cracking.

"Ne'er 'eard that one before." He comment to himself, his eyes remaining closed, his words slurred with pain.

His black shirt – or what she could only assume used to be a black shirt – was only shreds, clinging to burned and scored skin in places and hanging off of the deformed skin of his chest and marred arms. His pants were slashed and allowed only a smidgen of modesty. The skin under seemed to be worse off than the skin on his chest. Instead of being nauseous, she was outraged.

Furious with whatever had inflicted the injuries, and his own obstinate need to do things on his own, December stomped closer to him, placed the books beside his shoulder, placed a foot on either side of his hips, and bent down to take his wrists into her hands. He slapped her hands away, but she proved to be just as determined as he.

Deciding that the fight was costing him too much, he gave in and let the idiotic human haul him up and then sling an arm of his around her shoulders, taking the bulk of his weight off of his poor feet. She had an arm around his waist, trying to be a gentle support and not hurt him any further, but needing to squeeze to keep him upright when he swayed.

"Your bloody books." He murmured while concentrating on placing one painful step in front of the other towards whatever direction she was taking him in.

"At the moment, sir, you are more important than three goofy library books."

"Important am I?" He said, but his lips barely moved, and the words ended up only being a single noise. Well, we'll see how important you think I am when you find out what and who I am, you daffy bint.

Spike and December hobbled like two drunkards, December being so small that the weight of Spike was too much at times, and Spike not being able to walk on his own, needing desperately the crutch that she was acting as, stumbled as she stumbled and cursed both of them.

Her for doing such a half-assed job, and him for needing it.

December knew that the stairs were going to be trouble. However, she hadn't thought actually getting him through the door was going to be twice as much trouble.

For some completely bizarre reason his body simply would not come through the threshold. It was like he bumped up against an invisible and impenetrable wall.

"Invite... me... in." He panted through his tightly clenched teeth.

"You're already invited. Why else – woah!" The moment the words left her mouth, the blonde man's body was all too ready to come into the apartment. Unfortunately the man wasn't prepared for it – either that or the effort he expended trying to get up the stairs had zapped him of all strength – and he swayed towards December. The last thing _she_ had been expecting was all of his weight leaning heavily on her shoulder, and so the both of them fell onto the floor seconds after December had uttered the invitation.

Close up, the man was very, very hurt. His hair smelled like the hair gel he used, but the rest of him smelled like ash, burned skin and mostly the putrid scent of festering wounds.

Holding her breath, she gently scooted out from under the man, and stood. She murmured "I'll be right back," and fled to the bathroom.

Paler, and lacking her lunch, but determined to see to the man, she returned from the bathroom with a large blanket. She spread the blanket out beside the blonde, who was watching her through semi-closed eyes. When she bent down to roll him onto the blanket, a hand clamped over her wrist and held her still. Startled that he had that much strength in him, she froze.

He murmured something, and December angled her head closer to indicate she missed what he said, and better catch it this time. "...bluh.....blood."

"What about blood?" She asked, tucking her long brown hair behind and ear to keep the mane from touching the man and bothering him.

"G.... give me."

December's head snapped back, her eyes wide. He's got to be delirious. He must mean that he knows that he'll need a blood transfusion or something.

"Well, first I've got to get you on this blanket. Then I'll call the hospital and get an ambulance for you and you'll get all the blood that you need, sir."

The grip on her wrist tightened. "No!" He burst out, his tone full of venom. "No hospital."

Relenting, December nodded with her blue eyes wide. "Okay, no hospital, but how are you going to get the treatment that you need? If you don't get the proper treatment for your wounds, you'll die from them. You... you smell of death already."

Much to her surprise, the man wheezed and then chuckled throatily. "Give me... blood. 's all I need."

"Right." She stated, doubtfully. "Well I can't give you the blood you need. The hospital can, that's why I want to call them."

He sighed gustily, and threw her wrist away from him. "Go to the... slaughterhouse... any kind of blood will... do."

"A slaughterhouse! But, they'll only have animal blood! Putting that into your blood system will kill you! You need human blood. And how are you going to get it in your veins where you need it? You can't expect to survive if you drink it! You need an IV. I don't have an IV, if you haven't noticed. Please. Let me call the ambulance."

"No." His statement was so firm that she stood, just as furious as he was frustrated.

"Fine! I'll got to the stupid slaughterhouse and get you your stupid blood and then you'll drink it and die, and I'll get arrested and charged for murder, and then I'll get sentenced to death row and I'll follow you to hell and torment you for the rest of eternity!" Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stormed over to her door, grabbed her purse, yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Spike lay on the floor of her apartment mentally laughing after her departure. _Girl's got fire and determination, I'll give her that._

December stepped closer to the counter of the shop portion of the slaughterhouse, no longer angry, but sad. "Two gallons of blood, please." The man at the cash register peered at her with a little bit of confusion but disappeared into the back for a moment and returned with two one-gallon milk jugs filled with the red liquid.

"Will that be all?" He asked, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle.

"Yes, thank you." December nodded her eyes not meeting the older man's eyes.

He named a price and she gave him the money. Tossing the coins into the open mouth of her purse, she slung it back onto her shoulder and grabbed ahold of the handles of the jugs and quietly pulled them off of the counter to her sides.

The cashier watched as she made her way out of the shop and then turned left, passing by the large window in the front with their logo on it. Curious and not wanting to know at the same time, he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, and turned to his newest customer. "May I help you?"

December opened the door with a sigh. She prepared herself for another argument about him and drinking the blood when what he truly needed was medical attention. She found him laying exactly as he had been when she had left, and his eyes were closed. Dread filled her.

"Sir?" she asked, setting the jugs of blood down at her feet just in the doorway. She moved closer, and nudged his shoulder with her palm. "Sir?"

His eyes fluttered, much to her relief, and then they slowly opened. "Blood?" he asked, his tone demanding.

"Yeah, yeah, I have your blood, you wanna-be vampire." She muttered, anger returning at his stubbornness. She took the jugs into the kitchen and opened one to pour a glass full and then returned to him with the glass. "It's still warm, grossly enough. I don't know why I'm bother..." she watched as he propped himself up on and elbow, yanked the glass from her hand, and gulped the blood like it was water. He tossed his head back, drained the glass and then thrust it at her. "...ing."

She took the glass back to the kitchen and this time returned with the jug as well as a newly filled glass. He took the jug from her instead of the glass that she offered and ignored her protests while gulping the coppery liquid. Done with the jug, he held out his hand for the glass, which she gave him, and watched as he drank it all. The blonde even went so far as to lick what he could get on his tongue from the glass.

With her eyebrows nearly in her hairline, she walked dazedly into the kitchen to retrieve the second jug. She knew that someone wasn't supposed to gulp cold water, and if you're dehydrated you weren't supposed to drink too much, but she didn't know anything about blood, and the consumption of it. She pulled the lid off of the jug and passed it to the waiting hand and shifted her weight on one foot, crossing her arms, watching the strange man who she had thought was dead earlier gulp with gusto the second gallon of blood.

His gulping turned into slow swallows and then he set the jug aside for a breath. He opened his mouth and a loud burp issued from it. He looked slightly satisfied with himself and December scrunched up her nose in disgust.

"Excuse you." She stated, taking the empty glass and jug into the kitchen with her. "And you're welcome."

Spike smirked and took another swallow from the half empty jug, wishing he had so much more. Those bastards had starved him for so long a moment ago he'd been sure he could consume the entire population of a small village all by himself in one sitting, but now his shrunken stomach was working overtime to empty and make room for the half gallon that remained.

"So," came a hesitant voice from the kitchen. "Who are you, and what happened to you?"

"The name's Spike, an' the rest is none of your business." He burped loudly a second time to punctuate his statement.

"I see." She murmured and then peered out of the kitchen door to look at him slightly propped up against the sofa. "Shockingly enough, you look better."

"'Course I do. Told you all I needed was blood, didn't I?"

"Indeed you did." She sighed and then walked over to sit on the edge of the sofa he was leaning up against. "I don't know why, unless you have that iron-deficiency disease, but you're right about that at least. You still need treatment for you wounds. You may look better, but..." she waved her hand in front of her nose as if to ward off the smell, "...now you just added blood to the list of stenches you reek like."

"And crappy blood at that, but," he sloshed the contents around in the jug, "beggars can't be chooses, luv."

December watched as he took a few more sips, watching her expectantly as if she were going to say something. Deciding not to let him down she continued her nagging tangent. Hopefully he'd get sick of her and let her take him to the hospital to shut her up. "What do you plan to do about your injuries? Drinking blood won't heal everything. You need some kind of burn salve, or maybe even some reconstructive surgery if you don't want the scars. Let me at least call the hospital and see what I can do to sooth the burns."

The man lowered the jug from his mouth and swallowed. "Are you always this big a nag?"

"Only when I have strange men sitting in my living room drinking gallons of blood to cure his bodily ills. In the olden days they used to let blood. You want to try that too? I'll go get the leeches." Turning on her heel she stormed off to her bedroom and threw herself on the bed. She was shaking. With fear, with sorrow, with anger, with surprise. Never in her life had she been this forward with anyone, this outspoken. She could hardly string two coherent sentences together despite all that she read. Large crowds made her nervous and did damage to her self-esteem. It was as if the whole world was waiting for her to trip, slip up, look like a total buffoon.

However with that guy she had not only strung two coherent sentences together, she had strung a few smart ass retorts and even went to far as to mother-hen him! And she had invited him into her apartment without any thought of the consequences. He could be a thief, or a rapist. Or he could be a stalker or someone running from the law. Or he could be a mentally unstable man that was very dangerous to young, short females.

For the millionth time, she wished she were taller and stronger if not male. Life was so much easier that way.

She stared at the wall for a long while until her thoughts returned to the fact that the blonde was still sitting in her living room, propped up against the couch drinking the rest of the blood she'd gotten for him. He was hurt, he needed her help, without her his chances for survival was slimmer than they already appeared to be. Sighing she got up from the bed and shuffled into the bathroom, retrieving a bottle of Aloe Vera from the medicine chest and walked over to the stranger. He was laying his head back on the cushions of the sofa, his eyes closed, and the jug empty still clutched in his hand.

When she lowered herself next to him, his blue eyes opened and he turned his face to her. "Thought I lost you; you were going to call the hospital behind my back, what with the stick up your ass 'bout it."

She bit back a retort in favor of her normal attitude and ignored his words, looking at the true damage of the burns. Ignoring his half-hearted protests, she peeled his shirt remnants from his chest skin, making faces of disgust and pain. She had to get a pair of scissors from the kitchen to cut away some of the cloth and then warned him before she yanked what was melted to his skin.

"Watch out... "Spike?"... I'm going to pull this off." And then she yanked, which made the man yelp.

"Cripes, that hurt like a bugger!" He angled his chest away from her reaching finger when she tried to grasp another sticking piece of black cloth. "No, no, ya chit, no more of that. Bloody well leave the shirt alone. I don't need a nursemaid, just go and get me some more blood."

She pointedly ignored him and got a hold on another piece of cloth and didn't bother to warn him this time.

"Bloody hell! Did you not hear me? No more peeling!" He shoved her hands away roughly and paid the price for it. He hissed and sat as still as he could while the pain rippled over his damaged body in waves.

Taking the advantage that this gave her, she squirted some of the Aloe Vera onto her hands and then smoothed the clear goo over the span of his chest, her palms and fingers barely grazing his deformed white and yellow skin.

"Your skin's cold." December finally commented. "I don't think that's a good sign. Heat means something is healing." Spike remained quiet, his eyes closed, but his fists clenched.

"Leave me alone. I need more blood if I'm to heal. That goop isn't going to help me." He opened his eyes and caught her gaze.

Then his face did something very not normal. December fell back onto her rump with a squeak as Spike's blue eyes flickered yellow and his eyebrows disappeared into his bulging brow that grew to nearly obscure his demonic looking eyes. Long incisors poked and parted his bottom lip from his top and he pulled his lips back from his teeth in a predatory sneer. "I'm not human so human crap won't work. Get me some sodding blood and leave off!"

December's fear propelled her up and off of the floor and rushing out of the door with her purse hitting her hip with bruising force as she fled.

She slowed down as rational reason turned to her. Then she stopped and leaned up against a building for a good thinking session. She threw a glance behind her, half-afraid that... "Spike" would be on her heels to make sure she did his bidding. Now she really didn't want to know where he got the name. She wouldn't be surprised if he told her his mother named him that.

What the hell was he?! Could he possibly... truly be what she had called him in her irritated taunting? A... vampire? That would explain the need to drink blood. But...Dracula wasn't like that. He looked... more human than that. She mentally cursed herself for considering that the media had any merit. Of course reality wasn't going to be anything like Dracula. However, she was unsure which one scared her more the predatory ugly bulging visage of the... vampire... in her apartment living room, or the human countenance of Dracula.

On the one hand the fact that he looked as inhuman as he was made him a little less threatening in that she could now recognize a vampire when she saw one and keep a wide berth. Evil had a face and it wasn't pretty.

So why the hell was she walking to the slaughterhouse again to get him some more blood? Why didn't she just call the police and tell them that there was a ...mentally unstable... man in her living room and he was a harm to her and himself and needed to be put into a looney bin? Because when he got out he'd be twice as peevish as he was now and wouldn't hesitate in tracking her down and killing her. She could feel the painful pricks of his teeth on the skin of her neck right now. Self-consciously she touched the hurting points on her neck and rubbed vigorously until the sensation was replaced by the burning of irritated skin.

She'd get him his blood, and then she'd kindly ask him to leave her alone as a blood-debt. She'd saved his life and so he had to return the favor and let her off.

He was still badly hurt, her conscious reminded her, and although blood apparently did heal all, he would be slow in healing enough to leave if she requested it. He'd drank enough blood to constitute as a single person and could not sit up with the help of the sofa. He could talk without panting – though she supposed he was panting from the pain and not being out of breath...

_Vampires actually existed_. The world reeled and December had to shoot out a hand and catch herself on a building wall before she wound up flat on her back in the street. What else existed? Her curious mind demanded, thinking of everything else that children were told to scare them into obedience. The boogie monster? Fairies? Elves? Oh, what a trip that would be! Real life elves! Oh no, Satan would too, wouldn't he? And other devils, and demons, and monsters that killed and maimed and hurt and rended. Her paranoia increased a notch and she began running again.

She knocked on the door just as the cashier that had helped her earlier was closing up shop. The man came back and unlocked the door, but his body stood just in the way of the slightly opened door.

"We're closed." He announced, resolute. "Come back tomorrow and we'll gladly get you what you need."

Nervous, but desperate, and not wanting to return back to her apartment to tell "Spike" that he was out of luck for the night and chance him forgetting his injuries and drinking her blood instead, she put a hand on the door to stop the older man from shutting it. "I need it now, not tomorrow. Please, it's an emergency." And then she hurried on when his face took on a very curious look and his mouth opened to give her a piece of his mind. "No, please, don't ask me. I can't tell you, and you'd never believe me. Just trust that I'm not doing anything illegal." _Unless harboring a killing demon in your apartment isn't legal_, she told herself. "I'll take all the blood you have off of your hands." He cocked a doubtful eyebrow at her. "For a higher price than you'd ask! Please! I need this blood. Badly."

Her offer made his eyebrows climb up his forehead. "You don't need to do that. And we have more blood than you could possibly need. I'll ring you up for 20 gallons." He rumbled. Then he stood away from the door and pulled it wide enough for her to walk through. "Wait here."

He took a long time, and came back with his hand empty of anything save for keys. Her face contorted in confusion, but before she could ask, he replied, "It's more blood than you can carry, Miss, so I figured I'd drive it over for you. Do you want to come with me, or would you rather walk.

December remembered that vampires existed so every baddie and ugly that she had ever imagined might as well, and she stepped automatically towards the husky older man. "I – I'd rather come with you." _You're less threatening than what is hiding in the shadows_, she told him in her head. _At least if I go with you, I can see you and see if you decide to go psycho on me._

He nodded and then stepped behind the cash register and named a price and this time she wrote a check. After he slid the check into the register and locked it up, he ushered her to the back of the store through the slaughterhouse portion and into a beat up pickup truck. "She's not as pretty as she used to be, but she's reliable," He explained as he helped her into the cabin. December smiled warmly at him in response.

She gave him directions to her apartment and then rushed up ahead and held the door open for him as he unloaded two 10-gallon containers just inside of her door. He nodded a greeting to the pale yellow, glowering Spike who was stilling leaning against the couch, the blanket still at his bare feet. The man turned to her with a hard look in his eyes, and she returned the accusation and curiosity in his silence with a pleading gaze_. Please don't say anything. I don't have an answer, or, at least, one that you will believe._

The man grunted and then climbed down the stairs back to his pickup truck. She called a "thank you" down at him and he tipped his head at her in acknowledgement.

She stepped into the apartment and locked the door behind her, though she was locking Spike in. Without saying anything, she went into the kitchen and returned to haul one of the 10-gallon containers closer to Spike and then unscrewed the top and popped a straw into the opening.

Spike would have laughed until his belly hurt if he didn't recognize that there was no other way to get the blood into his mouth as of yet.

After she finally got used to the thought that the man who was looking faintly better with every mouthful of blood he drank was a vampire, she needed something to do. She couldn't possibly go to sleep now, what with her increased paranoia. She had always suspected, but to find out it was true was like a relief and a punch in the stomach at the same time. Most likely she really wasn't in any danger of ghosts and goblins, but the adrenaline would keep her up if not fear.

She spotted the Aloe Vera bottle that was still sitting on the small wooden coffee table just to Spike's left and found something to busy her nervous hands.

Spike eyed her from the corners of his eyes as she smeared the goo on her palms and reached to then smear it on his chest.

He nudged a dripping hand away from his torso. "What part of 'leave me the bloody hell alone' do you not get?" He asked petulantly.

"Humor me," she shot back before she remembered this wasn't like her.

"Oh ho, kitten has fangs." Spike smirked. Then his manner turned arrogant, "I bet it's just that you're in lust" he savored the word, "with me. You just can't wait to get those tiny hands on my handsome self and would take any excuse you can get."

She was too angry to hold back what her mind provided for her anymore. Never before had she been so ready to respond. She'd always been the one who couldn't retort because her mind was blank with mortification of the mean attention of the bullies who would tease her.

"Oh, yes, I'm so very attracted to the sight of first, second and third degree burns, festering slashes and yellowed, sickly skin – oh, and don't forget the white, chapped lips and sunken eyes – that I'm just barely holding back the impulse to ravage you."

Spike was blissfully silent. He returned to sucking blood through the straw, albeit angrily, while December continued her gentle ministrations, slightly smug at her 'win'.

"What's it like? Being a vampire?" December was hesitant, but her curiosity was running away with her brain in the silence.

Spike would have ignored her if he didn't have the perfect response to it. "I could turn you, and then you could tell me." His voice was low and quiet, promising.

December's hands hovered for a moment until she realized he was baiting her. "You could." She ceded, "But I'm the kind of girl who wants to know what the water's like before she jumps in."

"Where's your sense of adventure? I should take that as encouragement." He teased.

"Yes, but what if I should find it utterly abhorrent and don't want to have anything to do with becoming a vampire?"

"The world of demons would mourn the loss." He didn't bother to pretend he meant it.

"I'm sure they would." She announced crisply, ripping off a piece of cloth from the skin of his ribs.

"Bloody hell, girl! Sod off, will you?! You're not helping. Go to sleep or something." Spike shoved away her hands, then angling his arm to fend off any of her other tries at smearing the Aloe Vera on his chest.

"You are burnt. Aloe Vera eases the pain."

"For the living. I'm undead."

"Tell me, does it give you better movement? Does the skin not stretch as much? Not hurt as much?"

He hesitated telling her that he actually considered it, but said "No."

"Liar. Fine. No more Aloe Vera. You win. At least let me help you take off those clothes of yours and put you into something that hasn't been shredded into near-rags."

Spike's scarred eyebrow arched, his blue eyes dragging up and down the length of her frame, pausing on the floor-length skirt and frilly blouse. "You telling me you got men's clothes in your wardrobe?"

"No," December drew the word out as she ran through her mind what of hers might work as pseudo-clothes until she could go to his place and retrieve some of his own stuff. "But I have some pajamas you could borrow."

"Do they have flowers on them?"

"Yes, but as you said 'beggars can't be choosers,'" she set her arms akimbo on her hips.

"Then I think I'd rather sit naked in your living room."

"I'd rather you not."

"Afraid you might like what you see?"

"Afraid I might puke at what I see."

"Then don't look," he spat. "I'm not the one all hot to get me out of my clothes."

"I'm not hot to get you out of your cloth pieces. I'm just concerned about your comfort. I just thought that you'd want to get out of them, maybe even shower. Clean up. Apparently I was wrong."

"Why did you help me?" Spike returned.

"I don't know. It's not every day I cross by a half-dead person who looks like they've been to hell and back with the scars to prove it. You know what they say: you don't know how you're going to react to a situation until you're in the middle of it." December shrugged, and then crossed her arms, self-consciously. "Do you want my pajamas or not? Or do you want me to go out to wherever you live and bring back some of your clothes from there?"

"All I really want is to sit here, drink blood until I'm back to normal, and then leave."

There was so much yearning and exhaustion in his tone that she relented and felt a semblance of her old self returning. Shy again and for some reason feeling a little rejected, she mumbled "Well goodnight, then," and shuffled to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

_Finally_, Spike sighed. _Took the girl long enough to grab the clue_. Spike settled back and screwed the lid on the container he was drinking from. Unsure what to think about the weird girl who had happened to chance by him just when he needed it the most, Spike closed his eyes and cleared his mind for a little doze.

The sound of water running brought him back to awareness, and Spike was reminded of the offer that she'd given him. He probably should have accepted the clean clothes and the shower to wash away the grime he'd accumulated over the past week and the clear goo that she'd smeared on his marred chest. However it would have been hell to get himself out of his clothes, into the stall, and probably even harder to do anything more than let the water run down his body. Spike cursed his luck and the situation.

Ah, well, pretty soon he'd be out of the door, never to come back and forget her charity; forget her.

December surprised herself by actually falling asleep shortly after getting into bed. The only reason why she knew she slept at all was that she woke up.

She sat up in bed, and blinked blearily at the alarm that was blaring at her. 8:00, of course – time to get up and get ready for classes. She rose and turned the alarm off.

After getting dressed she walked into the living room on her way to the kitchen and gave a start of surprise at the sight of a conked out Spike sprawling on the floor, the blanket covering everything but the pale yellowness of his face. Her small noise had woken him and his eyes opened to glare at her. "I forgot you were here," she muttered to herself as she continued to the kitchen.

"Same here." He sneered back at her.

December ignored him, and popped an English muffin into the toaster and poured herself some orange juice.

"So, what do you propose I do for the rest of the time that you're healing?" December asked, just as her muffin popped up golden brown in the toaster. "Just bring you blood when you demand it of me, and go about my business as if you aren't here?"

"It's a start."

"It's going to be incredibly hard, Spike." _God, that is such a goofy name, I can't believe I'm actually calling him by it._ "I feel pretty useless. What if you get worse and die?"

"I'm already dead. I have faith in you keeping your hands to yourself. Yellow, sickly skin, sunken eyes, and all that."

December came back into the living room with her buttered English muffins and orange juice and sat at the table in the living room just feet away from Spike and the couch. He was still lying on the floor flush against the foot of the couch. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Buggering off would be fabulous."

"Has anyone told you that you're rude?"

"Among other things, yes."

"You like it, don't you? Your bad ass reputation."

"It's not a reputation, sweets, it's who I am."

December sighed. "I liked you so much better when you were out cold."

"I liked you so much better when I was out cold." He hadn't even opened up his eyes during the whole exchange. December wanted to pelt him with her muffin, but that would be a waste of food. Probably only irritate him too. Ooh, doubly tempting.

"Wiener schnitzel." December said, to have the last word.

Spike's eyes blinked opened and then he angled his head too look at her. "Pardon?"

December smiled sweetly. "You heard me."

"Yeah," Spike said, bewildered, "but hearing and understanding can be two separate things, pet."

December deposited her empty glass of orange juice in the sink and returned to her bedroom to collect her things for classes for the day.

She stopped just as she was about to shut the door closed behind her. Spike had pulled the blanket over his head, completely hiding his entire self from the sunlight. December remembered that he was a vampire. Apparently that part about them and sunlight was true. She shut the door enough to only poke her head through. "Do you have enough blood to last you for the day?"

"Plenty," replied the blanket.

"Okay, then. Have a nice day."

The door muffled Spike's rude response enough for it to be unintelligible, and December smiled as she made her way to Sunnydale University.

December forgot all about Spike once her day began. School was interesting and she loved learning new things. She didn't have many friends because as far as she knew, no one shared her opinion about college and learning. Most of the people around her complained about this teacher or that, having to take three tests on one day, and failing this class or that. She would always respond to them in her head that if they studied, paid attention in class, and did as the teacher told them to do, then college would be a breeze.

The other "cool" crowd probably conceived her as a geek, but really she didn't care about them. Yes, she was lonely and wouldn't have minded if someone had came up to her and just started talking. However, she was too shy to go up to anyone else and strike up a conversation. Her people skills were definitely lacking, but she'd never put any importance to them until she started college and saw how much fun the others were having. Yes, she knew that they were overdoing the fun, but she understood moderation. All she wanted was a bit of what the others enjoyed. For once she wanted the attention, the smiles, the popularity.

Then her brain would ask if she would give up her smarts for friends, like the others apparently did and she would always respond with an emphatic "no" and keep to herself for another month.

December remembered about Spike just as she was about the open the door to her apartment. Prepared to see him, she was actually delighted when he turned to watch her come into the room. "You look so much better! Your skin is starting to lose the yellow cast, and you're sitting on the sofa!"

December's joy irritated Spike. "Get a doggy biscuit, do I? Nearly broke my back getting up here, but yeah, I'm getting better."

December shrunk in the face of his ire. "Sorry, I was just happy for you."

"Why do you bloody care?" Spike burst out suddenly, making December flinch. "Who are you, sodding Mother Teresa?"

"No," December whispered with her eyes downcast. "I just wanted to help. You were lying there, and if I didn't do anything, then who would? I don't know why I 'bloody' care.'" Her shoulders straightened marginally, the only clue Spike had of her strengthening proverbial spine. "But you're one to complain." Her words were still quiet, but there was hard determination under her tone now. "Without my help, you'd still be hungry, and you wouldn't have a vat of blood at your disposal. Without blood, I'm guessing your vampire healing abilities, which by the look of you, you apparently have, would suffer, and you would most likely have been on that sidewalk until then end of the year, or more realistically until the sun rose."

Her breath stopped and she lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at Spike who was glaring at her. "Whoever did this to you put you out there just as the sun set on purpose. One last night, and then when the morning came there would be nothing left of you – if that part of the legend applies. You were too weak to do anything about it – too weak to even crawl under the trees or create some kind of shelter until you were well again."

"God," December's knees felt weak, so she trembled over to the table and sat down on a chair. "If I hadn't almost stepped on you, you would have died."

Spike inhaled deeply, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring, completely out of his element as December curled up in the chair and started crying on his behalf.

"Look, luv." Spike lowered his voice to a caress. "Shut off the waterworks, because you did almost step on me. I'm not dead. There's nothing to cry for, now is there?"

December turned her head to peer through her tears at the injured blonde sitting on her sofa, her temple resting on her knees. "No. You're right, I guess." She wiped at the tears away with her palms and sniffled.

"Of course, I am." Spike crooned to her. December watched him for another moment and then stood, and walked over to his ten-gallon container that had been drained so far down that a straw could no longer reach the liquid. She retrieved a glass from the kitchen and angled the container to pour some blood out. Spike accepted the offered glass and drank it, watching her all the while.

December reached to take the empty glass from him, but Spike refused to hand it over and insisted on pouring his food himself. December shrugged, and beat a retreat into her room, her eyes falling on the library books she'd picked up on her way to classes from the apartment. She had breathed a huge sigh of relief that they were still there. Then had quickly pushed from her mind why they might not have been there.

December settled upon her bed and began her homework, getting lost easily in the fascination she always felt when learning something new. She devoured the library books she had borrowed on the topic of tornadoes for her science paper and quickly began a very rough draft that wasn't at all organized, but put onto the loose leaf sheets of paper what she had learned about the phenomenon that was a tornado.

Undeniable hunger for sustenance finally brought her out of her room. Her stomach was growling so loudly that even Spike could hear it from his perch on the living room sofa.

"If you're hungry come out and eat something. Your stomach is complaining something awful." Spike commented, to the closed door that he had heard the grumbling coming from.

Moments later the door opened and a very straight-backed and red-faced December marched into the kitchen and clanked around with pots and pans. Hours after the pleasant smells of cooking food had first wafted under his sensitive nose, December clanked around again, this time with plates and silverware.

Spike tipped some blood into his glass and ate with her in silence.

December pushed the remnants of her meal around the plate and tried to find the uncharacteristic courage she had felt earlier the day before. "Umm... do you want something to do? All you're doing is lying there. You must be bored-"

"Out of my mind, luv. Completely batty. You got a tele I could watch?" Spike perked up, his blue eyes alive with hope, stunning December.

"Tele? Um, oh. Yes, it's in my bedroom." She was about to tell him to go into her room to watch it – it would be a real hassle getting it from that room to the other, but then she pictured her lying in her bed when she was in classes. _Also_, she reasoned, _it's going to be more of a hassle to move him in and out of the bedroom everyday. Even though he's getting better. I'll just move it into here. More privacy with him here that way. _ "I'll go get it." She murmured and began the long process of unplugging and transferring the speakers, sound system, VCR, cable box, TV, and the stand that she placed all of it on into the living room. Spike watched avidly interested and a little impatient.

"I've missed a whole lot of _Passions_. I'm just dying to see what's happened since I last watched it." Spike was almost bouncing on the cushions of the couch.

December nearly dropped the TV onto her feet. _Passions!? That's a soap opera! _ She looked Spike up and down, this time looking at him for a clue, a hint. No, nothing outward would give this little tidbit of his personality away. A vampire that killed people, drank their blood until they were dry, watched a soap opera. December set the TV down on the stand and pinched her forearm. Hard. No, she was awake.

Kneeling down to plug in all of the cords she had brought to make the whole entertainment menagerie work, December worked through her head a reason why. Well, I suppose, what with all of the time he has on his hand while waiting for the sun to come down, he'd watch TV... or something like that. And Soaps came on right around that time. Still...

"There," December stood and angled her head around the TV to locate the power button, "I think that should do it." She found and pressed the other power buttons and the TV came to life. She retrieved the remote control and passed it to a rapt Spike. He began flipping through the channels, then found the channel that his soap would be on and moved up from there, not allowing the people on the television to speak more than a word, making a very bizarre sounding sentence that sometimes curved one side of her mouth. How could he see what was on, with how long he left the channel on? She got just the barest flash of each scene, and couldn't tell what show was on before another scene would flash, confusing her farther.

"Now hold together restoring natural and we go the people firm while you stay new rumors," the TV announced. She snorted, shaking her head.

"Enjoy yourself, but just leave it low enough for me not to hear it through the door when I go to sleep."

Spike didn't respond, but she didn't want to repeat herself. She got the impression that if she had danced some belly dance butt naked right beside the television she still wouldn't have gotten a response. She was tempted to climb onto the sofa and whisper into his ear that she wanted to do very nasty, wicked things with him, but half of her knew that he would take her up on what she'd only intended as a jest.

Her eyes rested on the clock on the side table that also sported a lamp and she decided it was time for her to call it a night and turn in. She'd eaten a late dinner and the moving had taken her at least an hour. Closing the door behind her as she retreated to her now TV-less sanctuary, she attacked the rest of her homework and then pushed the work off of the bed to the foot and curled up under the covers.

She dreamed of people who would change into someone completely different if she pushed a button on her watch. And then there was some trouble with her watch, seeing as how the government wanted it, so she hid from them in the closet of her grandmother's house, only to find out that a very hungry, sexy vampire wanted a little something to eat.

She woke up, sweating, and had trouble going back to sleep, mistrusting the shadows of her room. Normally, she would have turned on the TV to distract her paranoia by the noise enough to drop off again, but she didn't have the luxury anymore. And she didn't want to sit on the sofa and watch the TV that was still on in the living room with Spike.

Instead she slinked to the door and gently eased it open, holding her breath and moving as quietly as she could manage.

Spike, of course, heard her. December smile weakly, apologetically when his head turned around to look at her. _Typical,_ she nearly grumbled aloud. _When you want him to give you an inkling that he knows you exist, he's oblivious, but oh, when he's the last person on the planet you want to notice you, he's like a freaking wolfhound. God, even his head is tilted to the side, all inquisitive._

"Bad dream." She whispered and then crawled back into bed, the door open.

Spike said nothing. He was insulted. Here, she would prefer to rather let the big bad into her room, what with the open door, practically inviting him in like a bloody siren, than keep it closed and deal with a bloody nightmare that was only in her mind. The nerve of some people! Sure he was pretty much gelded, what with the chip in his head, but he wasn't harmless! He was at least, scarier than a nightmare. At least!

And he would have stormed into her room to prove it to the silly bint, if his wounds didn't pain him so much.

December and Spike worked out a routine. She'd go to school and he'd stay in her apartment, drinking blood and watching TV until he got better, and they'd completely ignore each other. Ever since her nightmare, the one where she'd been eaten by the vampire in her closet, she'd said nothing to him. And Spike, insulted by her actions the night before, had nothing to say to her.

This changed however, when Spike was visibly getting better. He could stand and walk around for short periods of time. His skin was starting to smooth out and look more pale white than yellow. He was fleshing out again and the dark circles under his eyes lightened and then disappeared.

His improvement made December slightly saddened, and reminded that as each day passed, Spike was that much closer to leaving. And the fact that it mattered to her made her even more distressed. He was a vampire. If he stayed too long he might forget that she was the hand that fed him in his darkest hour and bite her. Well, maybe not his darkest hour, she relented, but he still was in pretty bad shape and wasn't able to fend for himself without her.

She had some tiny problems accepting that Spike was going to get better – the only way she knew him was in need of her. Now he wasn't and he'd leave. Just leave her to her apartment and her college and her life and her future. Everything would return to the way that it was when he wasn't there. Everything would be as if he hadn't even come into her life and make her feel needed for the first time in her life. Make her feel like she was doing something good and that what she was doing mattered. That he was a vampire kind of stank, considering he was only getting better to prey on humans and kill and maim, but he was her vampire.

Yeah, and if Spike knew what she had been thinking, then he would have killed her. Her vampire? What had prompted that little exclamation of possession? She hadn't birthed him, raised him, made him into whatever he was, or even had any kind of relationship related ties to him in the male and female sense. Nor was she related to him. She just had found him and nursed him back to health. Just invested time and money. Really, he was his own vampire, so there was no need for her to feel or be so possessive.

He was his own vampire the second he regained consciousness, and he would be his own vampire the second he walked out of her apartment.

Why did she want him to stay? He was mooching off of her, never giving for anything that he had received from her. So why did she want him to stay? She didn't really. It was only a little part of her. A little, insignificant part that was easily ignorable.

But despite this, she began to talk with Spike. At first it was just "what did you watch today?" from her seat at the table. Then it progressed to her telling him about her day. Then they were talking about opinions and thoughts about what was on television today, and he began telling her about the change of media through the ages. She realized that he had a knack for story telling and that he enjoyed the attention he got from it. So she urged him to tell her other stories, about anything, about his life and how he saw society and government and how much things had changed since he started existing.

She told him about her life so far, and the loss of her parents not long ago to a car wreck. She then told him about her quest for knowledge and her aspirations of either being a writer or a scholar. A teacher or a professor was on her list of possible careers as well. Something that would allow her time enough to continue to learn. She wasn't interested in becoming famous and earning the big bucks. She just wanted a little niche that would allow her to be left alone and read. The high and wild life was not for her.

Of course, that directly contradicted a small voice inside of her, but she wasn't going to tell him that. A small piece of her that wanted fame, fortune, love, attention, money, recognition, popularity, and really hunky guys falling over themselves to be her doormats. But, she was a realistic person, and so she settled for merely knowing a guy who was who she wished she could be like.


End file.
